


The Last to Know

by arturas



Series: the light surrounding you [1]
Category: Star Wars Legends: Knights of the Old Republic (Video Games), Star Wars Legends: Knights of the Old Repulic II: The Sith Lords (Video Games)
Genre: Atton is not observant, Bi disaster Atton Rand, Crackfic taken seriously, Fluff and Humor, Humor, Light Side Exile, M/M, Oblivious, Obliviousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:54:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28047264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arturas/pseuds/arturas
Summary: Atton prides himself on being an observant and aware individual.Atton is also a bit of an oblivious idiot where his own romantic life is concerned.Male!Exile, Oblivious!Atton, and Profiteering!Mira. Crack premise taken way, way too seriously.
Relationships: Male Jedi Exile/Atton "Jaq" Rand, The Jedi Exile/Atton "Jaq" Rand
Series: the light surrounding you [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2085324
Comments: 7
Kudos: 18





	The Last to Know

**Author's Note:**

> I find it almost insulting that I can struggle to write 5k words over a month for NaNoWriMo yet pound out ~14k+ words in a week for a decades-old videogame (to say nothing of the 100% cursed "conscience calls the guilty to come home", which is already at 20k+ words before I've hit publish on it).
> 
> The premise of this story is that Atton is the most self-ignorant idiot known to man. This started from the restored content mod scene where he calls out the Handmaiden on ignoring Echani etiquette in favour of feeling up the Male!Exile and somehow ended in, well, this. No explicit scenes (unless I end up writing the bonus smut that is half-done but not vital to the story. Which, probably, will end up being added eventually, but is supplemental at best and pure PWP at worst). **UPDATE 01/01/2021:** it's up as its own story - it adds nothing but horniness so, if you're into that kind of thing, go check it out; if you're not, sweet, there are no changes to this story's rating!
> 
> TLDR: Atton isn't in denial but just simply doesn't even consider the possibility until tongues are down throats and he's in just a wee bit too deep. No beta, concrit loved, and absolutely not a serious work but I've spent far too much time on it to not bother publishing.

** Administration Level Holding Cells, Peragus II Mining Facility **

Atton’s always had a pretty active imagination. It’s probably the reason his mental defences work so well; he doesn’t just count the cards, he sees them hit the table and hears the riffling of the deck. He doesn’t just list hyperspace routes, he sees the entire console panel light up and sees hyperspace fly past the cockpit window in fast-forward. He doesn’t just recall something vague from holoporn, he hears the sounds and feels the sensations… well, in his mind, at least.

Still, when he’d imagined all the various ways he’d be freed of his holding cell on Peragus, he’d at least imagined being rescued by somebody wearing clothes.

The man in the doorway is almost as scarred as Atton himself but somehow manages to make it look heroic instead of villainous. There’s a mining blaster badly holstered in the stealth-field generator around his hips. He’s holding a vibroblade and holding it in a way that looks both familiar and very, very weird; Atton chalks it up to the fact that everything looks a little weird since he’s more than moderately dehydrated.

His would-be rescuer is also wearing nothing more than a faded set of military-issue underwear and a confident smile. Soft shoes, too, but that’s neither here nor there.

Atton tries for irreverent, missteps slightly, and perhaps comes off as a little more dehydrated than he really is. ‘ _Nice_ outfit. What, you miners change regulation uniform while I’ve been in here?’

The man smirks shamelessly. ‘You got a name, or just a big mouth?’

‘Atton. Atton Rand. Excuse me if I don’t shake hands; the field only causes mild electrical burns.’

‘Care to explain why you’re locked up?’

‘Security claimed I violated some trumped-up regulation or another - take it up with them if you want, but they stopped listening to me shortly before they stopped feeding me. Now _that's_ criminal.’

‘So you’re not a miner?’

‘Nope.’

‘What is this place?’

That’s great for his chances of getting let out of the cage but also really not what Atton wants to hear right now. ‘You mean you didn’t come here on purpose? I’m shocked, I really am.’ He gives the man a brief run-down of the station’s use in case it wasn’t a joke, followed by an abbreviated version of what happened after the arrival of the damned Jedi. ‘Then there was some big explosion, I was sitting here for a long time on my own, and then you showed up in your underwear and things started looking better.’

The man raises an eyebrow. ‘There’s a bounty on captured Jedi? Why?’

‘Do I look like an Exchange goon to you? Don’t have the faintest idea. Could be for a trophy, could be a grudge – there’s not a lot left, so I wouldn’t be surprised if the bounty’s pretty high.’

To Atton’s annoyance the man is apparently more interested in the bounty on Jedi than letting Atton out of the cage. ‘Did the Exchange wipe them all out?’

‘Erm, no. That’d be the war. The ones that weren’t killed ended up switching off the lightsabers a long time ago. Word is, there’s not even a Jedi Council anymore, but who knows?’

He frowns and makes no further movements toward the control panel. ‘I heard rumours of a war – but a war between Jedi?’

Atton boggles. The man doesn’t know what facility he’s on, doesn’t know about the Jedi Civil War, doesn’t even have _clothes_ on, yet somehow he’s the one rescuing Atton and not the other way around. The galaxy has a sick sense of humour, it appears. ‘Uh, yeah. Revan, Malak, and the Jedi that went to join them in the Mandalorian Wars versus all of the others. Once they finished business on Malachor V they turned against the other Jedi and had a scrap that almost laid waste to the whole galaxy. Where the hell have you been?’

There’s a flash of – _something_ across the man’s expression that Atton probably would have managed to spot if he wasn’t so dehydrated. ‘I’ve been… away since the Mandalorian Wars. Heard some rumours, not much else.’ He sounds almost reverent. Or maybe disappointed. It’s hard to tell behind the buzzing field.

Atton sighs. ‘Well, I wasn’t there either, but like all Sith Revan and Malak turned on each other. After they turned on the Jedi, of course. Depending on who you ask Revan either wiped the Jedi out and left to start a Sith Academy on Korriban or saved the Jedi and returned to Korriban to pay Malak back for trying to kill her. Either way: the Academy got flattened, Malak died, and if Revan’s still kicking she’s the only one who knows where she is.’

To his surprise and only slight horror, the man nods gravely. ‘I’m not surprised… Revan lived for battle. She could not easily turn away from war – or death.’

A high-ranking veteran of the Mandalorian Wars, perhaps? Atton’s head is pounding from dehydration and he really, really wants out of the cage, so before the man can ask him anything further he interjects with a sarcastic, ‘Look, not like your half-naked interrogation isn’t a personal fantasy of mine or anything, but – hey. Wait a minute.’

High-ranking veteran of the Mandalorian Wars. Slightly cryptic and almost reverent knowledge of Revan. _No_ knowledge of the Jedi Civil Wars… and Atton is almost furious with himself for taking so long to register that the man’s holding the vibroblade the exact same way one would hold a lightsaber.

He’s blaming the dehydration. Normally he’s _way_ more observant than this.

‘You’re that Jedi the miners were talking about! Where is everybody?’

Said Jedi’s expression moves from bemused to guilty almost instantaneously. For a terrifying moment Atton braces himself to hear that the man murdered his way to the holding cells but then he answers, ‘I don’t know – this facility seems abandoned.’

So he’s stuck in an explosive mining facility with a half-naked, lightsaber-less Jedi who has no idea what’s happened. Correction: he’s stuck in an explosive mining facility, still locked in a kriffing force cage as he’s being (poorly) interrogated by a half-naked, lightsaber-less Jedi, who has no idea what’s happened.

Well, at least things can’t get any worse, right?

Atton runs his hands through his hair. He hasn’t been around a Jedi since – since _her_ – and every last bit of his logical brain is screaming at him to stay here, in this cage, and not risk a damn thing. Even if the Jedi doesn’t break into his mind and find out the truth the man is still a _Jedi_. The moment Atton stops being useful he’ll be discarded or worse. But his conscience refuses to go quietly: one Jedi already died for his sake, it reminds him. One Jedi already wasted their life saving his. Is he really going to make that two? And does he _really_ want to stay in this cage any longer than he already has?

So instead of doing the smart thing and keeping an impenetrable barrier between them, Atton deals a fresh hand of pazaak and makes a bid for freedom. ‘Look – hey, let me out, and I can help you. I’ve gotten out of trouble countless times.’

The man glances at the control panel then back to Atton. ‘What makes you think we’re in trouble?’

‘Let me lay it out for you, since you didn’t even know where you _were_ a few minutes ago. This facility is a series of mining tunnels dropping kilometers into the asteroid's core. Every worker and droid here has been cleared, then triple-cleared, for hazardous operations. This facility has an operational threat level so high they don't let un-cleared starships in system out of fear that an accidental engine discharge will create a very brief, very hot new sun in this sector. Every asteroid in this orbiting minefield has deposits of Peragian fuel within it – that means when one decides to pop, its siblings are going to come along for the ride. One explosion, you might survive. But a hundred? A thousand? You'll be riding out of here on a comet trail. So if something's gone wrong here – and if the place is as abandoned as you’re claiming it is, I’m making the call that something has _definitely_ gone wrong here – you can cling to the Force all you want, but nothing'll stop this place from going critical.’

The Jedi rubs his chin thoughtfully. ‘I feel that I can trust you… enough to escape here. What’s your plan?’

Atton moves towards the edge of the cage. ‘This facility isn’t a military installation, which means we may have a chance at cracking our way out. You shut down this cell’s security field and I can reroute the emergency systems so we can get to the hangars. We’ll grab a ship and then we fly right on out of here.’

‘I might be able to fly a ship out of here without you.’

‘Well, go ahead and burn your thrusters, but if there’s been a lockdown then you’re trapped on this level with me – you’re not going anywhere.’ He flicks the collar of his jacket, giving the Jedi a smug smirk. ‘And _I’m_ the one with clothes.’

The Jedi gives him a wry smile in return. ‘More’s the pity. All right, I trust you; if we work together, we may be able to get out of this mess.’

It’s a start, at least. The moment the cell goes down Atton makes a beeline for the tap. The Jedi watches him closely as he gulps down the stale water – amusedly? Bemusedly? Cautiously? He can’t tell. Hopefully his usual observation skill levels will return once the dehydration’s dealt with. Having a full-fledged conversation before figuring out that he was talking with a Jedi is just plain embarrassing. Probably not as much as wandering around an abandoned facility in his underwear, though.

‘So,’ Atton finally says, wiping his mouth as he finally turns to follow his “rescuer”. ‘Let’s do this, uh… huh. Never did get your name.’

‘Jax. Jax Surik.’

To his credit, even with the dehydration-induced headache “Atton” manages to avoid reacting to hearing what almost sounds like his old name, and he nods distractedly. ‘Surik. Gotcha. Right. Down to business – let’s get to the command console.’

Jax tosses his head towards the bridge with a grin. ‘Should I tell you to stay ahead of me and not make any sudden moves?’

Atton rolls his eyes. A Jedi that thinks he’s funny? Apparently the galaxy’s got a sicker sense of humour than he gave it credit for.

* * *

** _Ebon Hawk_ cockpit, in hyperspace on route to Dxun **

One exploded planet, two shuttle crashes and a whole hidden Jedi academy later, Atton’s head is spinning. They’ve picked up not one but three additional hangers-on since Peragus – a cryptic old witch, a smart-mouthed (vocabulated?) trash compactor, and a worryingly quiet Zabrak mechanic that not only knows Jax but refers to him as “General”. Also a thoroughly battered freighter that’s already been stolen once and still has scaffolding holding the garage together. In the last three days alone they’ve been arrested, nearly assassinated at least twice, busted a smuggling ring, exposed and half-destroyed the local Czerka branch, _definitely_ destroyed the local Exchange branch, paid off what feels like half the station’s gambling debts _and_ committed themselves to finding a new fuel source for Telos.

Can’t forget the old witch breaking into his head and finding out his secrets. _Definitely_ can’t forget that.

Atton rubs his face, hard.

It wouldn’t be so bad if Jax wasn’t – well, Jax. Even in the limited time he’s known the man it’s blindingly apparent that ex-Jedi or not Jax still _acts_ like a Jedi. And not one of the stuck-up holier-than-thou types that gave the rest a bad name, either; he’s just simply and legitimately a good man. Atton’s seen him turn down payment for near-lethal favours no less than six or seven times so far (to say nothing of how many credits he lost trying to win the freedom of that Twi’lek girl before Atton finally took over). It’s almost infuriating but every time Atton goes to give him an earful he just smiles that beatific smile and looks so _happy_ to be doing good for people that Atton doesn’t have the heart to chew him out.

There’s also the fact he’s basically ended up the default leader of their little group. It’s been a long while since he was in any kind of military but once Jax starts giving instructions Atton finds it almost impossible to disobey, let alone talk back. Even more so now that he knows Jax used to be a _general_.

It annoys him that he can’t picture Jax as a general. Not like the kind he served under, on either side. The Republic ones were stiff-spined, eagle-eyed hawks; the Sith were just plain psychotic. Smart, ruthlessly smart, but psychotic. Jax is none of those things. Jax barely even wears his _robes_ properly, never mind any kind of uniform and he slouches worse than Atton does. He loathes telling people what to do unless it’s couched in suggestion or framed as guidance. And he never, ever kills unless it’s absolutely necessary – a far cry from destroying whole planets.

He’s not a hundred percent sure that Malachor V was Jax but between the fragments of overheard conversations and the way Jax tenses whenever the planet’s mentioned, Atton has a pretty strong suspicion. The Republic never released the name of the person responsible but rumour had it that it was one of Revan’s Jedi generals and the timeline certainly fits. It would go a long way towards explaining why half the galaxy wants him dead, too.

All in all, it leaves Atton fearing that he’s not the only one working hard to be underestimated. He himself – merely an ex-assassin – is one thing. Jax, however, is something else entirely, and that troubles him a lot.

So once they leave for Dxun he makes sure the autopilot’s set, checks the security console to be sure Jax is meditating with Kreia, and he heads on over to the garage for a quick discussion with a certain Iridonian technician.

‘Hey,’ he says, keeping his tone as casual as possible. ‘Got a minute?’

Bao-Dur doesn’t even look up from his position at the wall. Welding sparks fly everywhere. ‘I’m a little busy here. What is it?’

‘Won’t take more than a minute.’

‘All right; I’ll work, while you talk.’

Atton almost asks him to stop but upon consideration, figures it’s probably better this way. Bao-Dur’s quiet but that doesn’t mean he’s not observant and Atton’s not keen on the idea of giving too much away here. ‘Look, your friend – the Jedi. Ex-Jedi. You know him from way back, don’t you? How much do you know about him, really?’

‘Him? You mean the General?’ Bao-Dur inspects his weld and nods, satisfied, before moving positions and starting on another one. ‘Yeah, during the War, if that’s what you mean by “way back”. Can’t say I know too much about him though.’

‘Better than anyone else on this ship. Just give me your opinion, okay? And don’t laugh.’

‘I’m trying to work here, Atton.’

He fights the urge to give a snarky response. Instead he folds his arms casually, shifts his weight onto one hip. ‘I was just wondering, if, you know – he – uh – has _changed_ at all since the war.’

Bao-Dur actually stops welding and flips his visor up to stare at Atton. ‘You’re being serious.’ His tone isn’t all that much lighter but it’s the most movement Atton’s seen in his cheeks since meeting him.

He scowls. ‘You said you wouldn’t laugh.’

‘You _are_ being serious. Atton, he was a general; I was just a tech. Your guess is about as good as mine.’

Atton considers how extroverted and social Bao-Dur is and/or was, then mentally winces. It wasn’t like he had much of an option though, was it? ‘Well… what’s your guess, then?’

Bao-Dur flips his visor down. ‘I’m getting back to work.’

‘Hey, I’m being serious here!’

‘And I’m being serious that I’m getting back to work.’ He starts welding again. ‘Atton, if you’re really so concerned, talk to _him_ about it. He never bit anyone’s head off for asking stupid questions back then and I doubt that’s changed if _you’re_ still on board.’

He’s sorely tempted to shirt-front the man but he knows a losing battle when he sees one (especially since he’s seen what that prosthetic can do). Instead Atton scowls, turns on his heel, and makes his way back to the cockpit as fast as possible.

Well, if Jax didn’t bite people’s heads off back then he probably wasn’t _all_ that much different. Hopefully. Honestly, he doesn’t strike Atton as being the kind of person to hide himself merely to make a good impression.

Atton still resolves to keep a close eye on him. And maybe not be _quite_ so much of a sarcastic asshole now and then. Unless Kreia starts it first, anyway.

* * *

** Iziz Spaceport, Onderon **

After being stuck “fixing” the _Ebon Hawk_ on Dxun (read: Kreia either forgot he wasn’t a technician or didn’t have any mental blackmail on Bao-Dur), Atton jumps at the chance to accompany Jax to Iziz. Sure it’s under military lockdown but at least it’s not the moist, beast- and Mandalorian-infested jungle of Dxun. There’s a limit to how much trouble they can get into there, surely. There’s no descriptions of them circulating and Mandalore himself is accompanying them; it’ll be a quick mission. In, find Kavar, out.

The first thing out of the docking bay Atton sees is a whole line of caged beasts, one of which promptly breaks free and tries to slaughter everything in sight. Jax at least remembers not to use his lightsaber and between the group it goes down without too many injuries.

Then there’s the near-riot in the public square.

Then they find out Mandalore’s contact has been arrested for murder. “Wrongly accused” Mandalore says, because he’s more of a drunk asshole than a doctor, but it does put their plans to contact the palace on ice.

At least Atton manages to confiscate their starport visa from Jax before he can try to wipe it and give it to one of the various sob stories floating around the place.

‘Is he _always_ like this?’ Mandalore asks him, as Jax politely asks a droid merchant for information related to Captain Sullio’s murder.

Atton shrugs helplessly. ‘He’s a good guy. What can I say?’

‘There’s a difference between being a good guy and being a patsy. How on earth do you keep that freighter of yours stocked?’

‘Equal parts people not taking his refusals seriously and me being damn good at pazaak.’ He declines to mention the opportunistic looting. Not because he thinks Mandalore would be against it but because Jax doesn’t really like to mention it, and only tolerates it because it’s all that keeps them afloat at the moment.

Mandalore chuckles. ‘We’ll have to let you loose in the cantina here. Plenty of fools with credits ripe for the picking.’

He’s not averse to the idea but unfortunately Jax’s investigations actually bear fruit and before long, Ghent’s free and they’ve got a meeting set up in the cantina with Kavar. For a wonderful moment it actually looks like they’ll have a straightforward in-and-out resolution to their search – and then thirty seconds later, Tobin strolls in with a hit squad.

He _knew_ this was never going to be as easy as it looked.

Somewhere between the bar and the cantina doors Jax gives up on the idea of stealth and breaks out his recently-assembled new lightsaber. It’s a game-changer for sure – half the bounty-hunters outside flee when the cantina doors fly open to reveal an honest-to-space Jedi Knight with robes flying and silver lightsaber gleaming – but it also serves to make Jax the most obvious target in the area. Coupled with the fact Jax has only recently begun training with a lightsaber again _and_ the fact that he’s more focussed on not accidentally deflecting shots into fleeing civilians, it’s a recipe for disaster.

‘Your _back_!’ Atton yells, body-checking his ostensible boss out of the way of a sniper’s shot. The blast burns out his shield and singes its way into his side. He’s more than used to a little pain, though, and merely grunts before putting a trio of shots through the offending goon’s chest. ‘Jax, you _have_ to keep your shields up – you’re taking too much heat.’

Even sprawled on the ground Jax manages to look a little sheepish. ‘Atton, you’re –’

‘Doesn’t matter.’ He pauses long enough to throw a grenade (sonic – Jax hates for them to use anything that might be lethal) towards the impromptu barricade on the opposite side of the square. He can already feel the skin pulling around his new wound and winces. ‘I’ll feel it later. Shields up, saber out, let’s go.’

Jax purses his lips. In a flash he’s back on his feet though, deflecting blaster fire and Force-shoving civilians to safety.

Atton gives himself a moment to fervently wish that Jax might instead shove their assailants off a high-rise or through a solid brick wall. Then with a sigh he raises his rifle once more and resumes firing. ‘Back to the ship. We need to get out of here.’

‘But I still need to get the visa –’

‘Fling it to them as we run past, we’ve got bigger problems right now!’ He grits his teeth as Jax – _still_ without his shields up – fails to deflect a shot and takes a round to the shoulder. To his credit the man doesn’t let it affect the spin of his lightsaber but it’s clearly a solid blow. With a mental groan Atton refreshes his own shields and sprints forwards: ‘Medpack, coming in!’

Jax grunts as the pack is slapped against his shoulder (maybe it was a _bit_ harder than necessary but Atton’s sore and more than a little annoyed at the moment). ‘You should’ve used it on –’

‘I’m a big boy; I’ll be fine.’

‘And I’m not?’

He puts a three-blast burst through the gaps in the spinning saber – privately hoping that Jax doesn’t question just how he knows how to do that – and slaps the activation button on Jax’s shields. ‘There’s more people shooting at you than me right now. Keep that goddamn shield up and let’s _move_!’

Jax hesitates, but only for a moment. A foreign burst of warmth rushes through Atton’s body and then Jax is on the move again, his saber flashing in the afternoon light like he was born with it in hand; for his part Atton feels like he’s moving in double-time, dodging shots almost before they’ve been fired.

Goddamn Jedi and their ridiculous powers. He shouldn’t be complaining about something that makes his job easier but, well, it almost seems _unfair_.

‘Never seen a Jedi so reliant on his pilot before,’ Mandalore comments, releasing a burst of covering fire almost subconsciously. He, at least, seems to be enjoying himself.

If he weren’t in a firefight Atton would roll his eyes. Instead he keeps his gaze steady and puts down a few bursts of suppressive fire as well. ‘Get him somewhere there’s no innocents and he’d be making us both look like rookies.’

‘Nobody’s innocent when they’re packing heat.’ Mandalore puts down another two bounty-hunters in just as many shots. Ahead of them, Jax effortlessly deflects a volley of shots, then Force-shoves a bounty hunter into a garbage bin.

‘Get him to listen to you and I might just be impressed,’ Atton retorts, already trying to remember just how many civilians were milling around in the merchant quarter and calculate how many more medpacks he’ll need to save Jax from his own stupid, self-sacrificing self.

SIthspit, he hopes their shuttle’s still in one piece. He’s not sure he could handle having to restore another damn planet just to leave the spaceport.

* * *

** _Ebon Hawk_ cargo bay _,_ hyperspace on route to Nar Shaddaa **

It’s not that he dislikes the Handmaiden’s habit of training in her skivvies. Far from it, really, even if the Echani habits hardwired into him mean that his mind can’t properly appreciate the view like she assumes he is. No, what he dislikes is her habit of training basically whenever she’s not sleeping, which means getting anything from the cargo hold basically always requires dealing with her.

‘Don’t you ever give it a rest?’ he mutters, watching her flow near-effortlessly through a series of low-level offensive forms.

She ignores him and moves onto the second-tier styles.

He rolls his eyes and strides across the room like she’s not even there. ‘ _Fine_ , don’t mind me,’ he mutters, mentally noting all the rules of etiquette she’s breaking like he’s going to go rat her out to their seniors. Outsider interrupting without acknowledgement; ignoring a directed statement in the training area; displaying higher-level training sequences to an outsider; wearing clothes for solo training.

To be fair, she _would_ be naked if she had the choice, but Jax ordered a stop to that after the time Bao-Dur went to fetch supplies and nearly stroked out upon opening the door.

He’ll call it a mark against her anyway. He’s feeling petty today.

As he stashes the unused shields and turns to leave he feels a shift in the air. His body reacts instinctively. So much for pretending he just knows how to fake it, he thinks sourly, even as he deflects her strikes and throws a few customary blows at her head. At least she gives him the courtesy of ending the impromptu bout in a proper stance.

Her eyes narrow as he steps back. ‘You know the first tier of styles, but you are holding back because I am unarmed. Tell me where you were trained.’

Atton shrugs casually. She’s not wrong that he knows the first tier of styles; her lack of weaponry wasn’t the reason for holding back, though. He decides against correcting her. ‘What can I say? I’m a quick study.’

‘You lie. Few know the Echani styles by reflex.’

‘Oh yeah? Guess you saw a lot of the world while you were freezing your cargo hold off in that ice academy, didn’t you, sister? Next time I walk in here, I’m carrying a blaster.’

She bares her teeth. ‘The next time I attack you, a blaster will not help you.’

He scowls and switches tack; he’s done with holding back. ‘I’m not scared of some ill-mannered brat throwing half-assed warmup drills at me. I can see why those sisters of yours refused to train with you back on Telos. Wait, sorry; _half_ -sisters. My bad.’

She actually snarls at him for that one. Mommy issues, thy name is… whatever her name is. ‘I am not the one throwing childish insults.’

‘I’m not talking about your mouth.’ It’s his turn to narrow his eyes as a recurring annoyance occurs to him. ‘Don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you’ve been sparring with our ex-Jedi friend. This isn’t some pleasure yacht. If I _did_ know the Echani movements, I might know more than just the first tier, including the etiquette rituals – so keep your hands where I can see them next time.’

She has the grace to at least look briefly embarrassed. Only briefly, though. ‘Fool,’ she finally spits.

‘Schutta,’ he retorts, not feeling any less petty, and heads for the cockpit.

‘Why don’t you just tell him already?’ she sneers as he leaves.

He mutters under his breath, ‘Just see if I don’t.’ Maybe he _will_ tell Jax just how impolite (forward? Crude?) the handmaiden’s being in their training sessions. Maybe he _will_ explain to Jax just what she’s implying when she pushes with fingers curled or throws him from the waist instead of the hip. And then maybe Jax will only maul instead of kill him when Atton then has to explain where and how he learned the finer points of Echani etiquette.

Yeah, no. _That’s_ not happening anytime soon.

* * *

** Refugee Sector, Nar Shaddaa **

As it turns out, for all of Atton’s worrying that Kreia will tell Jax about him he’s undone by a literal faceless stranger in the refugee sector of Nar Shaddaa. Some Twi’lek that saw him way back when. Some nobody that Atton doesn’t know, doesn’t remember, who doesn’t know just what their information has done to him.

He should’ve known something was up when Jax asked him to come scavenge the airspeeder for parts. He’s not Bao-Dur or one of the droids – even the newly-awakened assassin droid’s better with a spanner than Atton is. But Atton went along, not suspecting, _happy_ … because he was helping Jax. Until the questions started, at least.

To make matters worse, Jax hasn’t raised his voice once. Atton has – several times – but Jax has remained as neutral and empathetic as always. No judgement, no accusation. Just gentle questioning and listening.

So now Atton’s slumped against the airspeeder carcass, the closest he’s been to tears since he killed _her_ , and fervently wishing that Jax would just draw his lightsaber and end him now. It’s the best he can hope for. Jax isn’t like him; Jax isn’t twisted enough to give Atton the _real_ punishment he deserves. Atton deserves all of the worst that he did and more. Jax isn’t like him, though, so the most Atton can hope for is a quick, clean blow from the lightsaber.

Instead, Jax kneels down in front of him and takes his hands.

‘Atton,’ he says, and it breaks Atton’s heart to hear the sorrow in his voice, ‘that was brave of you.’

‘Brave _nothing_ ,’ he spits. He doesn’t look up. He can’t look up. He doesn’t _deserve_ to look up. ‘I’m waiting for you to kill me, here.’

‘You know I wouldn’t –’

‘Make an exception. We’ve taken out enough monsters over the last month or two that I know you can if you try. Come on, Jax – you’ve heard it all. What point is there keeping me alive? What point is there in – in someone like _me_ hanging around someone like _you_? I’ll just –’

‘Stop _right there_ ,’ Jax snaps. It’s the angriest Atton’s ever heard him.

Stunned, Atton obeys.

‘You’re right in that what you’ve done is unforgiveable. I’m not going to stand here and say there is _anything_ that justifies what you did. You’re right; you’ve done terrible things. Awful things. Things that once upon a time – yes, I would have killed you for. But you’re _not that person_ anymore. That’s how this whole conversation started, remember? Atton wasn’t your name. You weren’t Atton then. You’re Atton now.’ He gives Atton’s hands a gentle squeeze of reassurance. ‘You didn’t tell me because I forced you to; you told me because you felt it was right. Because you _wanted_ me to know.’

Atton swallows hard to crush down the lump in his throat. It feels like he’s swallowed a grenade.

‘You said it yourself: when you met me on Peragus, you wanted to help me. In the time since then you’ve done nothing _but_ help me. You’ve been my crack-shot pilot, my pazaak trump-in-the-hole, my strongest supporter, my rescuer – more than all that, you’ve been my friend.’

He can’t stop himself from laughing hollowly. ‘You’ve got shit tastes in friends, Jax.’

‘Yeah, probably. They don’t teach you how to make friends at the Jedi Temple.’ One more squeeze, then a hand moves to Atton’s shoulder. ‘But you told me the truth. You told me knowing it could mean your death or worse. You could have made up any number of stories that would have made sense without telling me the real thing – but you didn’t. That’s brave in my books. I said what you did was unforgiveable and that still stands; I’m no messiah. I can’t forgive you. I’m only human. But I can _accept_ you.’

He doesn’t give a krif about the hand on his shoulder, but that last sentence makes Atton snap his head up. ‘I don’t believe you. You –’

And then he shuts up. Not because he’s been told to but because of the expression on Jax’s face. It’s… tortured. Physically pained. If he didn’t know better he’d have thought he’d been working the man over himself. But beneath it all there’s something softer, kinder, more empathetic.

Jax isn’t just hurting for himself. Jax is hurting for _Atton_. For the worthless, depraved, disgusting waste of air that is Atton.

The corner of Jax’s mouth twitches. He knows what Atton’s seeing. ‘Atton – listen to me. There isn’t a single person in the galaxy who’s never done something they regret. You’ve done terrible things and as I said, I can’t forgive those things. But you _turned away_ from it. You made the choice to take the hard road and turn away from everything you knew.’

‘All I did was run away –’

‘Did you really run?’ he asks softly. ‘You acted to save your own life. Sometimes that’s cowardice, true, but what you did took more courage than fear. It would have been so easy for you to ignore the truth you felt – juma, spice, glitter, good old-fashioned denial – but you didn’t. You listened to it. You closed your mind to it to save yourself, but you _listened_ to it. That was the Force, Atton. You heard the Force.’

Atton clenches his jaw. ‘I… I know. I knew then, too, but I couldn’t – I was afraid –’

‘That it would make you a target?’

‘That it would _change_ me. Into – into something else.’

Jax smiles slightly. ‘More than it already had?’

‘I didn’t see it that way back then, but – yeah.’ He swallows again; it hurts just as much, but his eyes aren’t so close to burning. He knows, now. ‘I’m not afraid of it anymore. I want to hear it again – I want to learn, Jax. I want to learn because I think… I think I can use it to protect you. To help you. Or at the very least, buy you some time when disaster comes screaming in.’

It’s the first time in the entire conversation that he’s seen Jax look _surprised_.

The words pour from his mouth like a flood. ‘I know – no, I _don’t_ know. I don’t know how hard it is. I don’t even know if it’s something you can do. But if there’s a way, _any_ way, that you can let me hear it again, that you can teach me to use it to protect you… please. I’ll do anything. Fight for you, kill for you, die for you. I know I don’t deserve it; I barely deserve to be let back on the ship, never mind follow you anywhere. But –’

He’s silenced when Jax puts his second hand on Atton’s other shoulder. The warmth emanating from him is a bath of sunlight; gentle, peaceful, accepting. _Safe_.

‘I will train you, Atton,’ Jax says, simply. ‘Now close your eyes, and open your mind.’

He does. For an awful second nothing is different; it’s just him and Jax down in the refugee sector of Nar Shaddaa on the ground beside a wrecked airspeeder. He can hear shouts, cries, blaster shots, the wind. He can feel the cool concrete below him, the cold metal of the chassis behind him, the warmth of the man in front of him.

Then, like a whisper, it begins.

‘Learn to feel it around you, feel its currents, its eddies.’

It starts small. Ripples at his fingertips, at his toes. Something pushes against his mind and he reflexively raises his walls of pazaak cards and hyperspace routes. But it doesn’t burn like it did before. It’s gentle, patient. Accepting. It doesn’t force its way through; it’s waiting for him to let it in.

Hesitantly, he slowly lowers the walls, and the warmth begins to spread.

‘Listen to the echo of your thoughts, your heart – separated from war, separated from hate.’

The warmth spreads into the darkest parts of his memories. It runs headlong into the bitterness and the pain that he’s kept there for so long, but it doesn’t shy away. It doesn’t hesitate when it finds his guilt. It doesn’t cool or slow when it finds the hatred he keeps for himself. It washes over everything, bathing it in light, and it accepts it all without judgement or condition.

The warmth pushes down the memories of blaster-fire, of lightsaber hums, of the screams of the dying and the snarls of the living. It envelops him – _all_ of him – and it’s like returning to a place he’d left a long, long time ago yet finding it just the way it had been left. He is scarred and bitter and broken now but it doesn’t matter. The warmth tells him that there is still some part of him that is good.

‘Think of what you felt when you felt the need to help me, to protect me.’

He thinks of their first meeting on Peragus. He thinks of Jax’s smile, confident and unafraid, and the scars that looked so heroic on him but so vile on Atton. He thinks of the fights they’ve been in. The cold fear whenever Jax takes a shot for one of them. The bone-chilling fear when Goto stole the ex-Jedi away from under their noses, nearly took him forever. The relief when the audience chamber door opened to find Jax unharmed, beaming, fully confident that they would come for him – and they had. Atton had made sure of that. Atton will _always_ make sure of that.

He thinks of the sunlight pouring out of Jax now. The light that illuminates the filth of his darkness, the light that knows and accepts what Atton did, but believes that he is still someone worth saving. Someone worth having around. Someone worth anything, at all.

The light is blinding. His eyes are closed but he’s still blinded; Jax is a star going critical and Atton can’t do anything but sit and watch in awe. The colours are nameless. The sound is indescribable. He has no words for this, for this Force, for this bond, and though it’s so intense that it hurts it’s not like the last time. This time he’s ready for it. He’s not doing this for himself; he’s doing it for Jax. For his first and only friend.

‘And at last, Atton,’ Jax says, his voice sounding moons away, ‘awaken.’

The star becomes a supernova. Atton is blinded, deafened, lost in the wash of tearing winds and colourful light.

When he opens his eyes, Jax is still kneeling in front of him.

‘Do you believe me now?’ he asks, smiling. There’s a glint in his eye that Atton could have sworn wasn’t there before.

Jax is the kind of friend he doesn’t deserve, will never deserve, but he’s the kind of friend Atton’s wanted and needed for years. One day he’ll be worthy of calling himself the man’s friend too. And because he can see Jax truly now, the same way Jax sees him, Atton smiles back. ‘Yeah. Yeah, I do.’

* * *

** _Ebon Hawk_ cockpit, hyperspace on route to Onderon **

‘Hey, flyboy.’

Atton looks over his shoulder with a frown. ‘What?’

‘What’s with that tone?’ Mira throws herself into the co-pilot’s chair, her grin a pretty solid indication of how seriously she’s taking him right now. ‘You’re sitting at the controls, aren’t you?’

He sighs. ‘Let me rephrase that: what do you want?’

‘Just to chat.’

Atton closes his eyes, briefly. With Mira, there is no such thing as “just” a chat. She’s one of the premier bounty hunters in the system and it shows; she has ways of worming information out of a conversation that almost trip _him_ up now and then. And even though she’s starting to train in the Force like him and Bao-Dur, she absolutely refuses to wear the robes. “Too loose”, she claims.

Atton’s pretty sure if the robes came in midriff length with a V-neck cut she wouldn’t find them loose at all. Far be it from him to begrudge her current attire though.

He sighs and keeps his mental game of pazaak rolling. He trusts Jax to not break into his head anymore, not beyond that first time under Kreia’s influence, but Mira’s an unknown. And she’s nosy. Plus the old witch is still on board and even though Jax knows about his past he’s still not keen on her finding anything specific to torment him with. ‘All right; I’ll bite.’

‘Of course you would. Now, look, it’s about our fearless leader.’

He frowns and turns to look at her properly. Why’s she coming to him and not to Jax? It’s not like the man isn’t approachable. ‘Continue.’

‘Well, also about you. And me.’

‘The bunks aren’t big enough.’

She rolls her eyes. ‘No, idiot, it’s about the training. The Force stuff.’

‘You’d be better off asking –’

‘I _did_ ,’ she interrupts, exasperated, and Atton’s concern level rises. ‘I wouldn’t be asking _you_ if I hadn’t already tried him.’

That sounds surprisingly honest. ‘I don’t know how much help I’m going to be if he couldn’t help you.’

She leans back in the chair, resting her boots on the console. He half considers telling her to stop it but _his_ boots are on the console too; he’s petty, sure, but he’s no hypocrite.

‘It’s gonna sound weird.’

‘Most Jedi stuff does.’

She smirks. ‘Yeah, you’re not wrong there. Ah – it’s about that… _look_ that he has. That glow.’

‘Oh, yeah, I know what you mean.’ His concern dissipates somewhat; he had the same questions too, once upon a time.

Her shoulders loosen a little as she folds her arms behind her head. ‘So I’m not losing it. Good.’ She cricks her neck. ‘So. That glow. Like someone’s hooked a power coupling up to his ion engine and switched it on full.’

Atton snorts. He’s never heard it described quite like that. ‘What about it? You’re right, you’re not losing it; it’s just… Jax, I guess. You’ve met the guy. There’s the by-the-book Jedi, the cryptic ones with gaffi sticks up their asses, and then there’s him. Actually a good guy, you know? It shows, is all.’

Her lip quirks a little. Something well-hidden flickers in her eyes. A few months ago he’d have pressed, tried to hunt it out of her, but these days he’s content for her to keep her past to herself as long as she wishes to. She’s only been with them a few weeks. Not long enough to survive exploding planets or assassin droids or (multiple) planets full of angry mercenaries. Enough time, Jax will probably have her just as calm as Atton is. Or she’ll have turned them all in for credits, herself included. Hard to say with her.

‘So why don’t you glow, then?’ she asks.

His smile hardens. ‘Give it another ten years, and maybe.’

‘Hn. Fair.’ She releases an arm to pick at something between her teeth. ‘Nothing to do with that pazaak game you’re always playing, or the names folks know you by on Nar Shaddaa.’

Atton closes his eyes, tilts his head back, and takes a very deep breath. Six-count inhale; six-count exhale. If he was a better person he might try to recite something lame and cryptic to ground himself – Jax said that the Code was a good one, if pretty damn useless all other times – but he’s not, so instead he deals a fresh hand and reminds himself that Jax knows and Jax _accepted_ (not forgave; accepted) him. He’s safe here. Jax has his back.

He opens his eyes. Mira’s watching him carefully now, free hand just a smidge too close to her blaster for his liking. ‘Don’t fire that thing in the cockpit; there’s enough falling apart already,’ he says, trying to sound as tired as he feels. ‘Look. I’m not going to claim I’m a good person but Jax knows about all of it, okay? I wouldn’t be his apprentice – I wouldn’t be his _friend_ if he didn’t. You’re right, I doubt ten years will make a difference. But it’s not going to stop me trying.’

‘And why’s that?’

He lets out a short, mirthless laugh. ‘Our fearless leader. Why else?’

Her hand moves away from the blaster. Only a few centimetres, though. ‘Care to elaborate?’

‘I told you – he’s a good person.’ Better than anyone Atton’s ever known, by a long shot. He’s still wondering if one day Jax won’t come to his senses and demand Atton leave but he suspects that if that day hasn’t come yet it probably never will. ‘There’s people that pay lip service to being good – like you and me – and then there’s Jax, who does good, even if it makes life harder for him. Being around him makes you want to _be_ a better person, you know?’

Mira frowns a little at the implication but eventually nods her head. ‘I guess I can see that.’ She pauses, weighing up something in her mind, then shrugs. ‘Guess I won’t be turning you in for the credits after all.’

‘Pretty sure overaged padawans aren’t worth shit to anyone.’

‘Their masters, maybe.’ She grins again, toothily.

Atton laughs; this time, he actually means it. ‘Yeah, but he’d have to borrow my credits to pay the bounty in the first place. I’m half convinced he’s allergic to money.’

Another well-hidden something flickers in her eyes. Annoyance, maybe? Frustration? He gets that. Jax is a good man but just plain fiscally irresponsible. For all the best reasons, of course, but it doesn’t make it any cheaper to keep the _Ebon Hawk_ stocked and spaceworthy. Thank krif for Atton’s pazaak skills. If Jax doesn’t complain too much about Mira’s bounty-hunting they might be able to actually afford something resembling actual food for once too, but he suspects that even a pacifist bounty-hunter is too violent for Jax’s tastes.

Atton shakes his head and returns his attention to the console. ‘Just keep the credits out of his hands when you turn me in and it won’t have been a waste.’

She rises to leave. ‘Given you’re the one he trusts to keep this rust-bucket spaceworthy, I think I’d be better off turning in the old woman. She gives me the creeps anyway.’

Warmth blossoms in his chest. It’s not like he _doesn’t_ know that Jax trusts him (he’d have been left on Nar Shaddaa if that were the case) but hearing it from someone else hits a bit differently. It’s gratifying. Rewarding. A reminder of how far he’s come from the man he used to be. ‘You and me both, sister. If you need an alibi, just give me the nod.’

‘And conversations like that are exactly why you’re never gonna glow,’ she snorts. With a final nod she meanders out of the cockpit and further into the ship.

Atton smirks as he returns his attention to the console. Well, he can’t really argue with that, can he?

He’ll just have to hope that being good enough in other areas making up for his less-than-virtuous indiscretions. Or that Kreia turns out to be a Sith after all. Surely an action still counts as good if it turns out he was right all along?

* * *

** Throne Room, Onderon Royal Palace, Onderon **

Atton sighs, for about the fifth time since the discussion began, and leans forward to rest his forehead in his hands. It’s not the most dignified position for a padawan to take – especially since his master is debating with actual, literal royalty – but he’s never been a typical padawan and if Jax wanted someone with a bit of decorum he’d have brought… probably the handmaiden, and that’d be it. Maybe Bao-Dur if there weren’t so many droids around. Not Atton, is the point.

A familiar clanking noise sounds from behind him as HK-47 re-enters the room. ‘Statement: The bounty hunter informs me that the assault on Freedon Nadd’s tomb was successful and that they will rendezvous with us shortly,’ he announces. He looks at Atton, then at the ongoing discussion, and makes a noise of disgust. ‘Astounded query: How can they _still_ be debating who has to kill the meatbag? Can they not agree to share credit?’

Atton doesn’t bother looking up. ‘The Queen was set to do it until Kavar insisted that it would be too bloodthirsty of a first act for her to take. Jax is against it outright, then made the mistake of agreeing with Kavar that the Queen shouldn’t do it, and now they’re trying to talk _him_ into doing it without outright asking him to and he’s trying to get them to imprison Vaklu without actually saying as much. You might want to tell the others we’ll be a while.’

‘Disbelieving query: You mean to tell me that there are two Jedi and a Queen and _none_ of them want to kill the traitor?’

‘Nah, the Queen and Kavar both want him dead. Just not at their hands.’

HK sighs. ‘Weary statement: I should have expected that Master would not be so logical. Even if the meatbag was attempting to kill us all approximately five minutes ago.’

Atton’s well aware of this; the blaster-burn on his leg is still throbbing despite having mostly been healed over. ‘Believe me, I’m with you on this one. If it were up to me I’d have killed him outright, save ourselves coming back here in six months to quell another coup.’

‘Statement: Sometimes I wish the Master would follow your lead a bit more, pilot. It is a shame he only seems to trust you with the ship and not his moral compass. Hopeful query: Do you believe he would permit me to do the job for him?’

Atton considers it, briefly, before shaking his head with a sigh. At least the droid’s calling him “pilot” instead of “meatbag” now, right? ‘I doubt it. He’d still probably feel guilty about it, what with you being his droid and all. Too much like pulling the trigger himself.’

‘Less-hopeful query: What about you?’

‘Doubt it. If he’d feel guilty because you’re his droid, he’d feel guilty because I’m his padawan.’ He rubs his temples lightly. ‘And don’t give me the lecture about how illogical that is. It’s Jax. The man won’t kill a gizka if he can help it.’

‘Statement: And yet he has had to kill dozens of mercenaries and Sith in the last few hours alone, and was responsible for the murder of thousands in –’

‘Don’t bring that shit up,’ Atton interrupts tersely, wincing as he recalls the haunted expression on Jax’s face whenever the Wars are brought up. ‘There’s a difference between killing in pitched battled and executing in cold blood, okay?’

‘Statement: Of course. One is far less likely to be interrupted.’

Atton doesn’t really know which the droid is referring to and he doesn’t particularly care to find out. He’s still a little creeped out by the droid’s definition of love as it is. Instead he makes a noncommittal grunt and says, ‘It’s _Jax_ , HK. It’s just the way he is. Honestly, I’m not sure he even understands that they’re trying to get him to kill Vaklu to begin with – we might as well get comfy.’

The droid gives the most exasperated sigh he’s ever heard a machine produce. ‘Statement: So many matters could be resolved if even one meatbag simply looked at the situation logically and spoke their mind openly, rather than relying on another ignorant meatbag overcoming their stupidity long enough to follow the first one’s implications.’

Atton raises his head and looks over to the (increasingly loud) conversation occurring across the room. ‘You’re not wrong there. I guess it’s just part of being human. Nobody wants to be the one to take the first step in case they offend someone, or misunderstood something.’ He pauses to consider what he just said and then pulls a face; apparently this whole Jedi thing’s rubbing off on him more than he thought it would.

HK kneels beside him and begins field-stripping its backup rifle on the throne room floor. Several nearby guards give it an odd look but nobody quite dares to come up and stop it. ‘Query: Does that include yourself?’

He almost says “of course not” but then reconsiders. Once upon a time he definitely wouldn’t have cared (and he absolutely agrees with Kavar and the Queen that Vaklu needs to die) but these days, he’s definitely stepping a little more gently than he used to. Hell, he didn’t even press Mira on her apparent familiarity with Mandalorian customs when they landed on Dxun and he’s only snarked at Kreia a few times during this civil war – he’s definitely less rough around the edges than he used to be.

Jax is an awful influence on him, he decides. The best influence, but an awful influence nonetheless.

‘Sometimes,’ he eventually replies. ‘Though if nobody makes a decision soon, I might have to go over there and explain to him exactly what they want him to do. Reckon you could rustle up a corpse for a diagram?’

‘Delighted statement: Of course! Just give me two –’

‘One that’s _already_ dead, rust-bucket.’

‘Irritated statement: And here I was thinking you were a _fun_ Jedi.’

* * *

** _Ebon Hawk_ cockpit, in orbit around Telos **

For someone who once prided himself on his observational skills, Atton finds that Force sensing is a lot more difficult than anticipated. He’s figured out the basics pretty well – living things versus non-living, sentient beings versus animals – but the specifics elude him. He tries to practice by figuring out who’s coming every time someone approaches the cockpit but for all his efforts so far he’s only managed to figure out two categories: Jax and not-Jax.

It’s probably something to do with how different the man feels compared to the other Force sensitives onboard. Possibly also the relative strengths of their Force connections. Then again, even Kreia feels different to Jax (not that she approaches the cockpit these days to begin with), so maybe it’s more to do with the whole restored-connection thing.

Hey, just because he’ll probably never understand the finer points of the Force doesn’t mean he doesn’t like to think about it now and then. Pazaak can get boring sometimes.

This afternoon (they’re still in orbit around Telos so he knows precisely what time of day it is; Jax insisted on returning to let Grenn know about the fuel source lead and to check on the Ithorians’ progress) he can tell that it’s definitely Jax headed his way, so he pays close attention and makes sure to spin his chair at the perfect moment.

‘You’re getting much better at that,’ Jax says, with a vaguely proud smile.

‘You’re running loud – it’d be hard _not_ to sense you.’ He stretches a little, cricks his neck. ‘What’s up?’

‘A training request, if you can believe it.’

Atton raises an eyebrow. ‘I thought we agreed we were going to give the meditation a break –’

Jax shakes his head. ‘Not in the Force. The furthest thing from it, really. You’re welcome to say no, of course, but – well, now that there’s no reason for you to hide your Echani skills, I’d be grateful if you would be willing to share your experience with me.’

Atton stiffens. ‘Wait. You want _me_ to train _you_?’

‘Well, I’m pretty confident you already know everything Brianna drilled into me.’ A faint flush of colour steals across his cheeks. ‘She might have been joking but, um, she suggested that you might be better suited to teaching me… etiquette, than she would be?’

It takes Atton a moment to realise that “Brianna” is the handmaiden. Apparently Jax has been working his magic on her, too. A moment later he realizes that if the handmaiden’s suggested _he_ be the one to teach Jax the Echani etiquette rituals then she probably hasn’t told him about her own prior indiscretions, and he disguises his grin with a scratch to his nose. ‘She did, huh? Well, I guess it’s better late than never. Can’t have you running around insulting folks when you do naked battle with them.’

Jax laughs. ‘ _Mostly_ naked battle, thank-you. Especially with the cargo bay’s metal floor.’

‘Princess.’

‘No, just the one who usually ends up on the ground,’ he counters, grinning. ‘Meet you there in five? I’d like to, um, clear the area first.’ Translation: he does not want Mandalore present for an Echani session. For someone so fixated on battle and honour Mandalore does _not_ understand the underlying purpose of the Echani tradition and, if present, tends to ruminate loudly about the pointlessness of training without weapons, armour, or clothing.

Atton’s pretty happy with that, all things told. Mandalore ranks pretty highly on the list of people Atton never wants to see him in his underwear. ‘Sounds good. I’ll need to tap someone to keep an eye on things here anyway. See you in five?’

Jax nods, smiles, and leaves for the cargo bay.

Atton takes one last stretch then rises to his feet and makes his own way towards the garage. He _could_ ask T3 to keep an eye on things but after one too many smart comments, he’s not disposed to asking that little trash compactor for anything. Technically HK and Goto are both equally capable pilots but he trusts them about as much as he trusts a Hutt, which only leaves him one option. Hopefully Bao-Dur isn’t in the middle of more welding.

‘Hey,’ he says in greeting, relieved to see the Iridonian is at the workbench instead of the wall for once. ‘Got a favour to ask. The boss and I are going to go do some training – could you keep an eye on the cockpit for me?’

Bao-Dur raises an eyebrow without looking away from the partly-disassembled… _something_ in front of him. Atton’s already starting to put together a rough lesson plan and can’t be bothered figuring out what it is, or was. ‘Training?’

‘Echani stuff. Not Force stuff.’

‘Ah. Echani. I see.’ Bao-Dur sets down his hydrospanner and smiles. ‘Yes, I can do that.’ His smile widens, briefly, into something that could be considered a smirk. It’s hard to tell with him. ‘Make sure you use protection, hmm?’

Atton rolls his eyes. ‘I won’t hit him _that_ hard.’ He heads for the bay, calling out as an afterthought, ‘Thanks!’

Protection. Hah. They routinely train with _lightsabers_ with nothing more than energy shields for protection; Echani sparring is practically child’s play. Though, he admits, lightsabers are far less likely to result in concussions or dislocations.

It’s all good. They’re not going to be aiming to actually _hurt_ each other. It’s just a friendly bit of sparring… with some pointed etiquette lessons on the side.

*

It surprises Atton how quickly he relaxes back into the pattern of Echani training. There’s a little bit of awkwardness upon first disrobing, true, but it’s not like Jax has never seen scars (or half-naked men) before. Beyond some faint colouring on his cheeks and a polite question to confirm that none of Atton’s scars are still painful to the touch, he is every bit the model student.

Atton wonders if it’s the whole Force thing that makes Jedi look so healthy. Despite living on the same diet of ration bars, nutrient pouches and questionable alcohol as the rest of them Jax doesn’t have the pasty spacer’s pallor that Atton does. The man almost looks _tanned_. It’s not fair.

…though if it _is_ the Force then Atton should look a little less corpse-like by now, surely. Maybe Jax just has better genes. It wouldn’t surprise him.

They start with a quick briefing on general etiquette. It quickly becomes apparent that for all her coaching prowess (he can begrudgingly give her that; Jax’s technique is impeccable) the handmaiden has failed to teach him anything about good manners beyond declaring the rules of the bout before beginning. Nothing about seniority, about hand positioning, about proper finishing and starting positions – none of it.

At least Jax is an earnest student. And it’s not like he’s being _deliberately_ rude.

‘I really don’t get it,’ Jax says, sounding flustered. ‘I promise, I’m not _trying_ to insult you –’

‘No, no, it’s fine,’ Atton interrupts. It’s not fine – this is the fourth time Jax has grabbed him by the waist instead of the hips for a throw and Atton’s not used to having to correct him so many times – but he can’t fault the man for trying to overturn a few decade’s worth of muscle memory in the span of a few hours. ‘These things happen. What aren’t you getting?’

‘The position. You say “hips” and I’m _sure_ I’m grabbing your hips but evidently I’m not.’

‘You’re _definitely_ not. Here – I’ll show you.’ Before Jax can protest Atton’s grabbed him by the shoulders and spun him around. Atton shifts into position behind him automatically. ‘All right; take notes, because there’ll be a quiz soon. This is where you’re putting your hands –’ he reaches around to firmly grip Jax by the waist, eliciting a small start from the man. He must have cold hands, he thinks distractedly, which is strange because both he and Jax feel quite warm – ‘and this is your _waist_. You can tell because there’s no bones, just muscle. This is where you _should_ be putting your hands –’ he slides down to grip Jax by the hips. Jax doesn’t jump this time, probably thanks to his underwear providing a bit of insulation against Atton’s hands – ‘on the hips. You can feel the bones.’

‘I… see.’ Jax shifts slightly. His back’s pressing up against Atton’s chest; he’s probably as uncomfortably warm as Atton is. ‘And is it purely a question of etiquette?’

‘Partly. If we were doing this in the buff, it’d also be a bit easier to grip.’ He squeezes, to demonstrate, and then releases his hands and steps back. He doesn’t feel any cooler, oddly enough. They must really be working hard. ‘Okay; let’s go again. Same pattern. When I see an opening I’ll go for the tier-one sweep, you block and throw me to the ground. If you do it right, we’ll continue the match on the ground. Sound good?’

Jax turns around, flushed, and nods determinedly. ‘Hips, not waist. Got it.’

‘Good.’ Atton takes the starting stance, waits until Jax mirrors him, and then the match begins.

It doesn’t take long before Jax leaves him a perfect opening for the first-tier sweep. Atton takes it and – to his equal relief and satisfaction – this time Jax grabs him in the right spot. Calloused hands lock onto Atton’s hips, a leg jams behind his knee and he’s sent sprawling backwards the ground. He feels a brief wave of pride before Jax drops on top of him and attempts a pin.

He’s still proud, of course, but he’s got pride of his own, and he refuses to reward mastering such a basic bit of etiquette by throwing the match.

Jax scrabbles for his wrists, grinning. ‘Better?’

‘Much – but don’t you get cocky on me.’ He lets Jax get one of his wrists in exchange for nudging one of his knees between the man’s legs, twisting to force them apart so that he can get his foot braced in preparation for a flip.

Jax responds by dropping the rest of his bodyweight solidly on top of Atton. Atton’s slightly taller but Jax is broader in the shoulders and somewhat better-muscled; it’s not a crushing weight but it definitely prevents Atton from rolling him over now. Atton growls and abandons the flip to get a rudimentary leg-lock in place. If he can’t roll the man off him he’ll keep him close enough for a choke.

Jax seems to know what he’s about to do though, because rather than focus on breaking the leg-lock he reaches up to pin Atton’s second wrist to the ground. He has to lean forward as it’s a bit of a stretch – Atton was trying to keep that hand out of his grasp – and they end up nose-to-nose, practically, breathing hard.

‘Tap,’ Jax orders, voice husky from exertion. A bead of sweat rolls from his forehead and drips onto Atton’s cheek. ‘I’ve got you pinned.’

‘Pinned nothing; I’ve got your leg.’ He tries to squirm free, using his grasp on Jax’s leg as anchorage to press his hips and chest up, and succeeds in raising them both from the ground briefly. But Jax is a born fighter and when Atton slams them back to the ground (with a slight wince; he forgot that they were grappling on the cargo-bay floor and not a proper training mat) he keeps his grip on Atton’s wrists without trouble.

He doesn’t have a way to support his upper body, though, and when they jolt back down his head goes down too. To his credit he avoids smashing his chin into Atton’s nose. Instead they end up cheek-to-cheek, chest-to-chest, _still_ breathing hard.

Atton finds himself wondering distractedly if Jax’s pupils have always been this large. If he didn’t know better he’d think the man was on glitter. It’d definitely explain how warm Jax is. It’d also kind of explain how hard Jax is breathing (though to be fair, Atton’s breathing hard as well and he’s definitely not on glitter).

A few seconds later, Atton realizes that something _else_ is also hard. Hard, warm and pressing proudly against his stomach.

To his mortification, it’s not Jax.

Well – not _just_ him, either, unless Jax has a third hipbone.

‘Heh.’ Jax’s breath is hot in his ear. ‘Not just my leg, huh?’

Atton attempts to tell Jax that he’s sorry, he didn’t mean for it to happen, they need to stop, but the words get jumbled up between his brain and his mouth and what comes out instead is, ‘Sorry – didn’t mean – to stop.’

Jax chuckles. ‘Me neither.’

And then the next thing Atton knows is that there’s a set of warm lips pressing firmly against his and then there’s a tongue flicking against his teeth and then _his_ tongue is in Jax’s mouth and _someone’s_ started rocking slowly –

Well, not someone. _He_ started rocking slowly. Grinding, almost. And damned if it doesn’t feel really, _really_ good, but –

‘What,’ he says, the moment they pull apart, ‘the _shit_?’

Jax’s eager and excited expression freezes. ‘Huh?’

‘I don’t – I – _what_?’

‘You mean – you don’t –’

‘I meant – sorry – _sorry_!’ Two syllables is apparently the most his brain can handle right now. ‘I, uh – _krif_ , Jax, I am so, so sorry –‘

He’s still hard. Worse, his body doesn’t want to stop. He has to consciously prevent himself from pushing back up against Jax; he’s not getting the man off until his wrists are free.

His body apparently agrees with that but not in the way Atton wants it to, and he chokes on his own spit trying to get the unwanted (but surprisingly not unpleasant) mental image out of his head.

‘No, no, I should be sorry,’ Jax babbles, looking more and more distraught as the seconds pass. ‘I mean – I assumed – I thought I’d read things correctly, and everyone else seemed to be on the same page –’

‘ _What_?’ he chokes. ‘Everyone – _how_?’

‘Well, Brianna told me about your conversation with her in the cargo bay –’

_“Why don’t you just tell him already?”_

‘– and the incident with Mandalore on Onderon –’

_“Never seen a Jedi so reliant on his pilot before.”_

‘ – even HK seemed to notice –’

_“Statement: So many matters could be resolved if even one meatbag simply looked at the situation logically and spoke their mind openly, rather than relying on another ignorant meatbag overcoming their stupidity long enough to follow the first one’s implications.”_

And Atton suddenly realizes with horrifying clarity exactly _why_ Bao-Dur found it so amusing to remind him to bring protection to an Echani training session.

And why Mira found it so amusing to suggest that Atton might mean a lot to his master.

And why practically _everyone_ on board the _Ebon Hawk_ seems to mill by the security console when Jax stops by the cockpit.

He’s going to space himself. He really, really is.

‘– but I take it from your expression,’ Jax finishes carefully, ‘that perhaps the – ah – implications of those conversations may have been misconstrued.’

He almost says “You _think_?” but his mind picks that moment to helpfully remind him how warm he’d felt earlier in the session when he spooned Jax because the man – usually a quick study – just simply couldn’t seem to understand the positional difference between grabbing the waist and grabbing the hips.

Then it brings up the time on Goto’s yacht when Atton had hugged him – damn near _clung_ to him – out of sheer relief at finding him alive and unharmed.

And the conversation on Nar Shaddaa that should have ended in his death but instead ended in Jax holding his hands and accepting Atton, scars and all, as not only Jax’s first apprentice but also his _friend_.

Can’t forget how the cockpit seemed to get warm whenever Jax stopped by, yet remained stubbornly chilled when anyone else dropped in.

To say nothing of how warm he’s been this entire goddamn training session.

‘Um,’ he says eloquently. ‘Uh. I – ah.’

He’s suddenly aware that the issue that brought about this discussion is, in fact, still an issue, even more than it was previously thanks to the intervening make-out session and the _rocking_ , and that the floor of the cargo hold is not an appropriate location to be having a personal revelation of this magnitude. _Especially_ not when Jax is still pinning him like this. Physical stimulation is physical stimulation, after all, and it’s actually pretty difficult to be properly shocked when he’s still hard as durasteel.

‘Atton?’

‘Yeah. Yeah. Uh – _huh_.’ He swallows to play for time as he vainly tries to figure out just how _kriffing long_ this has been A Thing. Onderon, maybe? Nar Shaddaa? Surely not Telos?

_“I mean, it’s not like your half-naked interrogation isn’t a personal fantasy of mine or anything…”_

…Peragus? _Really_?

…more importantly, does Jax still have those briefs?

Atton squashes _that_ train of thought before it can make the situation worse. Evidently his highly-trained observational skills have a blind spot the size of Nal Hutta where his own idiot self is concerned.

Mira’s _never_ going to let him live this down.

He exhales slowly. It does absolutely nothing to lower his heart-rate or soften him up, but it’s a start. ‘Here I was thinking that being a Jedi was meant to make me _better_ at realizing these things,’ he says bitterly.

Jax releases his grip on Atton’s wrists and makes to rise to his feet. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he says, looking equal parts concerned and upset. ‘I didn’t mean – I never intended to make you uncomfortable –’

‘No, no, it’s fine,’ he stammers, because it _is_ fine. Or will be, at least, once he’s wrapped his head around things properly. His brain suggests wrapping his hands around other things instead and he nearly chokes on his own saliva again. It’s not a bad idea (it’s a _fantastic_ idea, according to other parts of him) but _stars_ he’d like just a few minutes to get his thoughts in order first. He hasn’t had a life-altering revelation like this since – well, the _last_ time he was this close to a Jedi – and he’d really appreciate a moment to breathe before exploring the more pleasurable aspects of the experience.

‘It’s not fine! I acted without so much as asking you if you wanted it – that’s damn near _assault_ , and to do that to my own padawan –’

‘For what it’s worth, it wasn’t an official etiquette violation,’ he offers. ‘Your hands were placed totally appropriately.’

Jax gives him an incredibly hamstrung look. ‘This is _serious_ , Atton.’

‘Is that why you’re still on top of me?’

A faint flush appears on his cheeks. ‘No; I’m still on top of you because you haven’t released your leg-lock and I can’t actually _get_ any further off you.’

Oh. Right. He still has body parts below the waist.

‘…the leg lock?’ Jax prompts him. ‘I don’t think I can break it without – um – look, I don’t want you to feel any more uncomfortable around me than you already will.’

‘Who said I felt uncomfortable?’

‘You froze, forgot how to speak, and then actually put the blame on _yourself_ for not realizing how your words had been taken.’

Atton frowns slightly, replaying the conversation. When had he ever blamed himself for – oh. At least it’s kind of reassuring to know that he’s not the only one capable of misconstruing something. He’s just the only one that can apparently do it for _four damn months straight_.

Well, maybe straight’s not the right word, but _still_.

‘I think,’ he says, leaving his legs exactly where they are, ‘that there might have been another misunderstanding there. Just in the opposite direction.’

‘I’m… not following.’ The ex-Jedi gingerly tries to extricate himself from the leg-lock without putting his hands anywhere on Atton’s body. He accomplishes nothing beyond a series of surprisingly pleasurable sensations that do nothing to help Atton word an appropriate response.

After a few abortive attempts Atton manages to say, ‘I was talking about realizing stuff about _myself_ , Jax. Not about realizing that the whole damn ship knew before I did.’

He can practically see Jax’s thoughts playing out across his face. There’s confusion that Atton still hasn’t released the leg-lock, then understanding as he parses Atton’s words, a flash of surprise upon _actually_ understanding the implications of what Atton’s just said, and then… a glimmer of hopeful excitement. ‘I… ah. I see.’ He clears his throat and stops his attempts to escape. ‘I take it that means you, um –’

‘I’m flying blind, yeah. Willingly, mind you, but it’s probably going to take a bit before I’m up to cruising speed.’ His brain catches up with his mouth just in time to realise exactly what he’s implied and he backpedals hard. ‘I mean – that’s assuming that you, uh, weren’t just planning on this being a one-off kind of thing –’

‘No,’ Jax reassures him, lowering back down to his original position flush against Atton’s chest, his face now much closer but still a polite distance away. _Stars_ , the man’s warm. ‘No. I don’t do one-offs. Especially not with you. Though – are you sure? I don’t want you to do this because you’re worried it will affect your training or anything like that.’ His excitement clouds over with guilt. ‘It’s already bad enough that I’m your master. I don’t want this to be me taking advantage of you.’

‘I’m meant to be training _you_ right now,’ Atton points out, in what he hopes is a reasonable tone of voice (the husky tone of _especially not with you_ is making his stomach churn violently; to his credit, he discards his initial assumption of an expired ration bar after only a few seconds’ consideration) – ‘If anything, I’m the one who should be worried I’m taking advantage.’

‘Despite the fact you were the last person onboard the ship to know?’

‘Just because I can be a bit slow on the uptake doesn’t mean I’m not quick to react.’

‘You _froze_ ,’ Jax points out, in an extremely reasonable tone of voice. His mouth begins to turn up into a small smile.

‘Freezing’s a reaction. Flight, fight, freeze or –’ He clamps his unthinking mouth shut just in time. Jax smirks, surprisingly attractively, and suddenly Atton can’t really remember why he didn’t want to say it. ‘Uh. You know.’

The ex-Jedi leans down, his nose almost brushing Atton’s own. ‘Do I?’

It’s a rhetorical question; Jax does. Like, _really_ does, to the point Atton starts to doubt the man could have ever been a Jedi.

Not that he’s complaining. No, he’s not complaining in the slightest.

* * *

** _Ebon Hawk_ common-room, in orbit around Telos **

They don’t plan on keeping it secret forever, of course, but Atton bargains for at least a few days to get used to the whole thing before revealing it to the wider public. It’s not that he’s ashamed of the situation – what was there to be ashamed about? Two adult members of the same species? What could be more vanilla than that? – but without an immediate hormonal distraction, there are _things_ that demand to be considered that he wants at least a modicum of privacy to think about. Such as how he’s going to answer the question of how he finally figured out what everyone else had apparently already known, just how this whole thing is meant to work longer-term (especially on board such a small ship, double-especially since he’s still one of Jax’s padawans), and a whole host of other things that he really, _really_ doesn’t want to be caught flat-footed on. Not again. Once was more than enough, thank-you very much.

Plus, if Mira ever finds out that he didn’t realise the truth of things until he was making out with the man, he’s _never_ going to hear the end of it. A plausible cover-story is absolutely required there.

Less than twenty-four hours after their, ah, _fraternization_ , he joins the rest of the crew gathering around the common-room table. He greets folks appropriately and then watches as he always does. This time, though, he actually feels as if he’s _seeing_ things for the first time, and he wonders how the hell he missed the implications for so long. It’s almost enough to make him paranoid about what else he’s missed.

Previously he assumed he always ended up next to Jax at these things by coincidence alone. Today, though, he notices the way people (and droids) either move out of the way or excuse themselves so that he ends up next to Jax almost organically. He notices the covert glances from some (Bao-Dur, Visas) and the overt glances from others (mostly Mira, who also trades smirks and grins with the other apprentices at a worrying rate).

Most of all, he notices how _warm_ Jax is on the bench seat beside him.

It’s the first time he’s been truly thankful for the meditation lessons.

Once the last arrival (Mandalore, as usual) filters in, Jax clears his throat. ‘All right; we’ll try to keep this quick. We’ve got two choices for where we head next: either Dantooine, where Vrook apparently is, or Korriban, where Lorna Vash may be.’

‘Query: Was there not a Sith Academy on Korriban?’

‘Key word, there: _was_ ,’ Atton says. ‘They pretty much had their own civil war once Revan killed Malak and as far as anyone knows, it’s been empty ever since.’

Mira wrinkles her nose. ‘So why would Vash have gone there?’

Kreia stirs. ‘For the same reason Zez-Kai Ell went to Nar Shaddaa, or the same reason Kavar went to Onderon – to hide. Korriban may be a dead planet but decades under Sith control mean that the Force is still strong there… more than enough to mask the presence of a lone Jedi.’

‘And the same for Dantooine?’ Jax asks.

‘No. Dantooine is not as… chaotic, perhaps, as Nar Shaddaa, but the ruins of the Enclave are likely to hold echoes of the past. It is a planet steeped in Jedi history. Where Korriban holds little but shadows and darkness, Dantooine holds memories of warmth and light. Both locations would prove ideal for masking the presence of a Force user.’

Atton wonders how much of Kreia’s free time is spent trying to come off as mystic as possible. Surely she wasn’t just _born_ like this.

‘So a strong Force background can mask the presence of active Force users?’ Bao-Dur asks. ‘Like a thermal exhaust hides body heat to infrared scanners?’

He could swear he catches Mira shooting a subtle glance at Jax. ‘Certainly explains why it’s easier to sense what folks are doing while we’re in space.’

Atton disguises his flinch by reaching for his caf. She doesn’t mean anything by it, he tells himself; he’s reading too much into things now.

‘Put this many people in this small a ship and you don’t _need_ the Force to figure out what’s going on,’ Mandalore drawls.

Beside him, he can feel Jax tensing up. There’s a brief spike in the Force around them before a wave of forced calm emanates outwards. Atton’s not sure whether to be relieved that he’s not the only one hearing things or very, very worried that Jax is also fighting to not give the game away.

He runs over everything again, for about the tenth time since yesterday. The door was locked. Nobody disturbed them, during or after. They were _very_ careful to keep the noise down and it’s not like the _Ebon Hawk_ runs silently. They’ve been professional and entirely appropriate since they parted ways for separate runs to the ‘fresher; not even so much as a wink or a nudge has passed between them. He’s _got_ to be reading too much into this. He’s just paranoid, on-edge because less than twenty-four hours ago – _well_. There were edges involved, certainly.

Then again, less than twenty-four hours ago Atton was also blissfully ignorant of not only his own desires but also the apparent interest that the rest of the crew have in his and Jax’s… _relationship_. (It sounds like a dirty word, somehow, but he’s not sure what else to call it.)

He stills his mind as best he can and takes a sip of his caf. He’s overreacting; that’s all.

Mira smiles again, and it looks downright wicked. ‘Too true. I mean, how hard is it to forget that there’s cameras in the cargo-bay?’

Atton chokes on his caf.

Jax looks as if someone’s just told him he was a Sith Lord in a past life.

Nobody else dares to move.

For a wonderful, beautiful moment everything is frozen in time on the edge of the cliff: nobody comments, nobody reacts, and Atton thinks that maybe – just maybe – it’s only Mira who knows, that they can keep it under wraps for a few more days, that this meeting _isn’t_ going to end in his very public humiliation.

Then Kreia sighs, in something between both disgust and annoyance. ‘The cameras were not the only thing forgotten. The Force is not so easily stopped by things such as walls or doors, and it appears that my lessons on _blocking_ one’s thoughts and emotions were not as taken to heart as readily as I thought they were.’

And like that, the last shred of Atton’s hope is gone. As is any remaining sense of decorum at the table.

‘Query: Does this mean that the betting pool can be resolved?’ HK-47 asks, as both Atton and Jax turn interesting shades of red as varying levels of understanding and horror are reached. ‘Statement: I could certainly do with some upgraded equipment.’

T3 chirps and whistles gleefully. Atton doesn’t even _want_ to try to translate.

‘I’m taking it that there wasn’t just a heartfelt discussion,’ Mandalore mutters. ‘For krif’s sake, some of us _work_ in that bay.’

‘I am not as familiar with the Echani styles as others on board, but their training session yesterday certainly did not resemble the forms usually displayed,’ Visas offers as confirmation. Atton _really_ hopes she’s talking about whatever Mira saw on the cameras.

The handmaiden wrinkles her nose, her expression caught somewhere between annoyance and vindictiveness. ‘So much for following the etiquette rituals. Hypocritical, much?’

Bao-Dur smiles knowingly. ‘I _knew_ that comment about protection was on the money.’

‘Are you kidding? Laserbrain over there –’

‘Mira,’ Jax manages to grind out, ‘I believe this is one of those occasions where, perhaps, you might exercise some _restraint_.’

‘Now, now, Jedi, what’s done is done, and there are wagers to be resolved,’ Goto interjects. ‘Bounty-hunter, please continue. I wish to claim the credits that are rightfully mine.’

Atton finally manages to find his voice. It sounds strangled and oddly high-pitched but he’ll take what he can get right now. ‘Mira, I swear to the Force –’

‘That wasn’t what you were swearing to yesterday,’ she says smugly, and pulls up an honest-to-space spreadsheet on the holodisplay as if he hadn’t said anything at all. Sniggers and snorts sound from around the table as Atton’s cheeks turn luminescent and Jax does his best to melt into his seat. ‘All right, let’s get this baby rolling. Whoever had flyboy over there making the first move, you’re out a chunk of change…’

Jax gives Atton a look that is far more apologetic than reassuring.

Atton wonders if locking himself in the cockpit would make this better or if he should just skip straight to spacing himself.

Half-hearted grumblings are made as credits are paid up, the winners collect their earnings with varying degrees of smug satisfaction, and by the time the travesty of a meeting is called to a close (a thirty-second discussion has them heading to Dantooine next, the clear victor of the betting is T3 with a staggering twenty-two hundred credits net profit, and despite her repeated dismissal of the pool as being a trivial and meaningless distraction Kreia pays out every last one of her _multiple_ losses) Atton is more or less resigned to his fate as the laughing-stock of the _Ebon Hawk_ for the next few days. Weeks. Months. However long it takes him to forget this mess ever happened. Or for everyone _else_ to forget it ever happened.

At least he’s not suffering alone. Small mercies, he supposes.

‘Cheer up, flyboy,’ Mira says, as the various crew-members take their leave. ‘I got paid and you got laid; we both came out of this on top.’

Jax winces and mutters something incomprehensible under his breath.

Atton rubs his palms against his eyes, hard. Once upon a time he’d have taken her words at face value. Now, however: ‘No comment.’

‘No com– Atton _Rand_. Talk about gutter-minded.’ She tuts like she’s scolding a misbehaving child, like she wasn’t the one that was running a kriffing _betting pool_ on his obliviousness or who watched part or all of their “sparring” session over the cameras like it was live holoporn. Which, technically, it was. ‘You really do read too much into things sometimes, you know?’

She heads off to her post at the security terminal without so much as a glance back in their direction.

Atton stares after her, for once truly speechless.

Behind him, he could swear he hears Jax let out a quiet snigger.


End file.
